Forest Born (7 page)

Through the trees, she spotted three girls. Their hair was hidden in Forest women’s headwraps, but Rin was certain that underneath the cloth, one had yellow hair, one black, and one orange. They were walking to the far edge of camp nearest the wood with Razo, Finn, Geric, and Tusken, making farewells. The fire sisters—that was how Rin had begun to think of them. Three girls who could speak the language of fire. She had no place with those girls, but she ached to. Rin stood, hesitated, tripped forward, and finally ran. Maybe Isi would let her come, if she asked. No, she could not ask, but if she followed . . . By the time Rin emerged from the trees, the girls were lost to the light of campfires, swallowed up by night.

Rin dragged herself back to camp. Both sorrow and relief warred in her chest, and she slumped against a wagon, startling when she realized what was inside. A body covered by a blanket, one scorched boot peering out. Brynn. She remembered when he’d promised Isi to guard the king with his life, his aspect anxious and curious. His hair had been a paler shade of brown, his face long, his build . . .

Something glittered on the edge of her memory, and she looked up into the stars as if for help recalling. Rin had seen him before the day of departure. In the stable yard. In the distance. The man arguing with Cilie. That had been Brynn.

Rin backed away from the wagon, her fingers and toes tingling. Cilie had wanted to be near Tusken, but not because she loved him, as she claimed. She and Brynn had argued together. Over what? Now Cilie had disappeared and Brynn was dead. Were those events connected?

Rin ran for her pack, her heart thudding in her chest, in her ears. She had to tell Isi . . . well, someone should tell Isi. But now Rin had an excuse to follow, and she seized it like the last hold on the edge of a cliff.

The queen had brought her to watch Tusken, and she could not abandon him.

Still, she cramped with guilt and worry at the thought of leaving the boy. So she would not leave him without a caretaker. Her pack on her shoulders, she ran toward the edge of camp where she’d last seen Razo, finding him ambling back alone, his hands in his pockets.

“Whoa there, Rinna-girl, what’s your hurry?” His gaze roved over the pack in her hand, her boots, her hood. His eyes narrowed, an expression meant to convey wariness, but on Razo it looked comical. “What’re you up to? Something sneaky.”

“I’m in a hurry, but I need—”

“I need a favor. I need you to keep an eye on Tusken from now on, until Isi gets back.”

“And does this mean that my baby sister is planning on leaving us?”

Her eyes flicked again to the edge of camp.

Razo caught her arm. “Why’re you being so mysterious? What’s cooking in that head of yours? Hey, is your hair puffed up higher than normal? Is that why you’re taller? I bet it’s your hair. That’d be triply sneaky if you puffed your hair just to be taller than me.” He patted her head, testing for unnecessary puffiness.

“Please, Razo. You’re more experienced with children than half of these soldiers combined and far better at keeping someone safe than I am. Just promise you’ll watch Tusken.”

“Uh-huh, and if I do that, you’re bound to do something silly like go chasing after Isi, aren’t you?”

She looked at him sharply. He picked dirt from under his fingernail.

“If you’re not going to talk I’ll have to figure it out myself, and I’m not half as slow as our brothers would make you think. Not half. Only about a quarter as slow and twice as charming.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back against her will.

“So why would you be following those girls? You just miss Dasha, do you? Or wait, you’ve been hired by our enemies to kill the queen.”

She snorted.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s it. My sister is an assassin. That’s why she’s so tall. She’s hiding a sword in her boots and poisoned darts in her hair. Look, I’d like to go too, but Isi thinks they’ll do best alone, and maybe she’s right. Besides, Ma would scalp me clean if you got hurt.”

“And then you’d be even shorter.”

He glared in an attempt not to smile. “You might want to rethink your plan anyway. No chance you’ll catch up now, seeing as how they’re riding.”

Horses. Rin had not considered they’d use those cursed beasts. How was she going to keep up on foot?

“Rin, what’s going on?”

Rin sighed. “Cilie, the waiting woman that was? She and Brynn knew each other, though she was from the east and rarely talked to anyone. I saw them alone by the stables, arguing. I don’t know what it means, but I think Isi will want to know. And you should tell Geric.” Razo rubbed his chin. “That is too suspicious to ignore. Why don’t you tell Geric, and I’ll run and tell Isi?”

“No! I need to go. It’s not just the telling that matters. I need to keep moving . . . I need to stay with those girls.” She shuddered, feeling helpless, but pulled all her energy together to make one last plea. “Razo, please? Will you watch Tusken for me and let me go?”

He stared for a moment before grabbing her and hugging hard.

“Rinna-girl taking after her brother, sneaking around and making plans that’ll get her into trouble? I’m so proud of my little Rinny . . . no, that nickname doesn’t work. How about Rinna-minna?”

“Razo, they’re already gone. I need to go quickly.”

Razo stared at the black and exhaled loudly. “Fine. Just be careful. I can’t afford to lose my scalp.”

Rin blinked, her face tingling with the heat of surprise. She had not expected him to agree.

He jogged off toward the line of horses and came back so quickly she’d only had time to stare at the wood and sigh.

He was leading a dappled horse, still saddled.

“This is Gladden. She’s nice and easy and was only ridden this past hour, so she’s fresh. I put her brushes and stuff in the saddlebag. You know how to brush down a horse? And saddle her?”

Rin nodded impatiently. She had no idea, but she’d figure it out later. She had to go now. Fear was seizing her, and she was sure she would die if she did not stay with those girls. Irrational, unfounded, but the fear still felt as real as the night. Razo helped Rin mount and tossed up her pack.

“You’ll watch over Tusken?” she said.

“Razo . . .” The fear in her turned icy, the heat in her cheeks replaced by gray cold. She leaned down, grabbed his arm, and spoke with all the urgency she felt. “Keep Tusken safe, here and at home, until his mother returns. Promise me?”

Razo’s eyes widened, surprised by her tone. “Of course I will, Rinna-girl. I swear it on my own life.” His briefly serious expression softened with a smile. “What do a bunch of soldiers and waiting women know about children compared to a fellow like me with twenty-two nieces and nephews?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three?” he muttered as he wandered back to camp. “When did that happen? I leave the Forest for a few months and everyone goes off and has babies . . .”

She nudged her horse. The beast made a dry wheezing sound before starting a slow walk, and Rin imagined the mare was laughing at her ineptitude. On foot it was a simple task for her sneak around, but on a horse, she felt exposed, naked, as easy to spot as a full moon.

Part Two

The Wood

Chapter 8

R
in rode through the night, afraid to lose Isi’s trail, and even more afraid of dismounting and not being able to get back on the beast again. But near dawn she worried Gladden was as tired as she, so she slid onto the soft earth, still clenching the reins.

She fumbled at the strap, sliding the saddle off and nearly toppling under its weight. Then she tied the horse’s reins to a tree and brushed its brown coat before curling up on the ground, the saddle as her pillow.

She slept fitfully, dreaming of the horse bucking her off, of finding the girls only to be sent away, of a yellow snake that dropped from the trees and tightened its smooth body around her throat. She woke for good when a shaft of morning light cut through her eyelids.

Another hour wasted while she tried to saddle the horse. Eventually she managed to lift the heavy thing onto Gladden’s back and strap it on, but when she clambered up, her weight made the saddle tilt to the side, the mare prancing uncomfortably. After climbing a tree and dropping onto the saddle, she’d ridden only a few minutes before the saddle leaned even farther over. The horse stopped fast, and Rin was dumped onto the ground. She scrambled for the horse’s reins, but no doubt tired of sliding saddles and girls jumping out of trees, Gladden trotted off and was gone.

Tears of frustration made a haze of the trees, and that horrible dead ache in her chest grew so heavy she thought it would stop her heart. She was lost. If she made it back to the road, the king’s camp was sure to be gone, and she’d have to walk to the capital on her own. That could take weeks. Worse, she would not be able to find Isi and the others now.

She leaned against a tree and let sorrow rise up to her ears like flood water. Her cheek pressed against bark, she closed her eyes, and for a moment she saw her anxious fretting as if watching it from a distance.

“What am I doing?” she said. “Of all the pointless . . .”

She shook herself, found the hoof tracks, and followed on foot. That path crossed with another set of multiple horse prints, and she followed the new set for a few hours until she heard voices.

Rin sneaked forward. When a girl wanted to be alone in a family of dozens, walking around undetected was an extraordinarily useful talent. Also, if a girl wanted to climb a tree and dump a bucket of wash water over a certain brother’s head, quick and quiet movements were paramount. Rin had years of practice. So she shinnied up a tree, perched near the trunk where branches would shield her from view, and listened.

“I think we should keep to the wood until we’re closer to Geldis.”

“We would move faster on the road.”

“But I’m concerned about watchers.”

That voice was definitely Isi’s.

Out of habit, Rin mused over the good pranks she could play, hidden as she was in the wood. She could wait until they were asleep and drag Enna and her bedroll off, so she woke up alone and disoriented—that trick was an Agget-kin standard. Dozens of times she’d seen one of her brothers hauling his bedroll back home in the morning, muttering, “Very funny,” while the guilty parties snickered out of Ma’s hearing.

Dasha spoke again. “Isi, but what about—you said someone had followed us into the wood.”

“Yes, but I know who that is now.” Isi’s voice raised, shouting directly at Rin’s tree. “Would you care to join us?”

Rin felt made of ice from her toes to her fingertips. Discovery was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation, and she wondered if Isi had help from the wind. Rin grabbed a branch with her hands, swung out of the tree, and dropped to the ground.

“Rin!” said Enna. “Were you doing an imitation of an enormous squirrel? Honestly, I thought you were the sensible one in your family, but you’re half Razo after all.”

“That’s odd. I was actually expecting . . .” Isi scanned the wood behind Rin. “Did you come on a horse?”

“It ran off. I—”

Isi mounted her black stallion bareback and rode into the trees, her face intent as if listening.

Enna sat on the ground and began sorting through a bag of food. “I give her six minutes to find your horse and come trotting back with it in tow.”

Dasha was embracing Rin. “Look at you! What in the—Why are you here?”

Rin shrugged helplessly. Dasha laughed in her pleased way, her nose crinkling in plea sure. “She follows us in the dead of night through a wood full of sticky brambles that leave burrs on your tunic, jumps out of a tree like a hopping bird, and when I ask her what she’s doing, she shrugs. Rin, you are darling!”

Isi returned, just as Enna predicted, with Gladden following behind. Isi did not even have the horse’s reins—it just trotted after the queen’s stallion like a puppy after its master. The saddle was dangling off the horse’s side.

“Have a little trouble with the saddle, did you, Rin?” There was humor in Isi’s voice, which relieved Rin immensely. If something was still funny, then perhaps everything would be all right.

Enna laughed. “I’d bet twelve slippers that horse was saddled by a Forest girl. Your horse ran off indeed. Can’t wait to tell Razo.”

“Your Majes—Isi,” Rin said. “I came because there’s something I thought you should know. I once saw Cilie arguing with a man, which was odd because she never spoke to anyone besides the waiting women. And I only just realized who it was—Captain Brynn.” The girls waited, looking at Rin, as if expecting more.

Rin flushed.

“And . . . that’s all. It just seemed odd that Cilie disappeared and then Brynn died.”

“That is odd,” said Isi. “Was there anything else? Is Tusken all right?”

Rin’s face burned hotter. “He was with his father when I left. And Razo swore to protect him. With his life.”

Isi nodded. “A great promise.” If she was worried, she made no more sign.

Dasha showed Rin how to saddle her horse and they rode all day, Rin expecting every moment that Isi would send her away. But when the blue in the western sky mellowed into gold, the queen still had not ordered her home.

They soon stopped for night. Enna cleared a space of leaves and twigs and piled a heap of dead branches.
A Forest girl should know better than to try and start a fire like that,
Rin thought.
Enna should begin with kindling, then add twigs
before—

Enna glared at Dasha. “It was my turn to start the fire.”

“Oh,” Rin said again, realizing it had been Dasha, not Enna.

“But you said I need the practice,” Dasha said demurely, stirring the fire with a stick as though it were soup ready for tasting. Her eyes flicked to Enna and then back at the fire. “How did I do?”

“You did fine, as you well know.” Enna pulled a bag of provisions off her horse and began working on supper.

“I just wondered . . . if there’s anything else you can teach me. I mean, I still can’t do as much with fire as you, can’t make big fires or keep creating them as long as you—”

“Nor are you ever likely to. No one can.” Enna sat beside Isi, putting an arm around her waist and tugging as if trying to get her to smile. “Isn’t that right, Isi?”

“No one burns like Enna.”

Rin wished they would explain more, but Enna returned to her cooking. Isi’s eyes flicked to Rin’s face, and she seemed thoughtful.

After a dinner of boiled potatoes and travel jerky, they lay down, but there was only a moment of silence before Enna groaned.

“I’m too jittery to sleep. How about a tale before bed?”

“Maybe something familiar would be nice,” said Isi,

“since we’re far from home. Will you tell about the three gifts?”

“No, no, that’s yours. You tell it.”

Rin kept her eyes on the canopy, where the breeze-lifted leaves raked the sky, and listened to Isi’s voice untangle the darkness.

“When the creator made the world, everything had its own language, and all could communicate freely—tree to wind, rock to snail, flower to honeybee. Last of all, the creator made people, and they strode over the land, speaking strong words and taking control. They broke the balance, and one by one knowledge of the languages was lost, leaving creatures deaf to any but their own.

“But as moons rose and fell and days and nights did a spinning dance, different sorts of people were born in the crannies of the mountains and wilderness. Born with a first word on their tongues, they could hear and learn new languages. As they found one another and taught one another, three gifts were named—nature-speaking, animal-speaking, and people-speaking. Though rare, now there were people again who could understand the language of fire and wind, of bird and horse, and of people too. The last, however, proved the most dangerous.”

“I’ve never heard you say that before,” Enna said, her voice soft and sleepy. “The part about people breaking the balance, being the cause that the languages were forgotten.”

“It’s just my own telling.” Isi sighed, her blanket rustling.

“But it makes sense to me. People move through this world unlike any other thing. When someone has the knowledge of only a single language—like fire, for instance—it overcomes them unless a balancing language is learned. But I’ve never seen anything that rots a person like people-speaking. It is a gift unlike the others, bound for destruction.” Isi sighed. “Well, that wasn’t a very good tale, was it?”

Enna yawned. “It’ll do in a pinch.”

But Rin was spinning with those ideas—everything had a language, and there were people who could learn them. Marvelous thought, mystifying thought.

“Rin,” said Enna, “Isi and I already know each other’s stories, and I suspect Tiran stories are boring . . .”

“What?” Dasha interrupted. “I—”

“. . . so why don’t you tell one?”

Rin did not feel capable of entertaining three such girls with anything out of her mind. But she glanced at Isi once for confidence, cleared her throat, and chose her words, like picking berries from a thorny bush.

“There was a girl who was friends with trees. Whenever she was sad or lonely, she sort of listened to the trees in a different way and could not really hear them but sort of could. Then she did something different than she’d ever done, wanted something for herself, and the trees stopped being her friends. And she didn’t understand why. So she ran away.” Rin realized she needed an ending. “And she found someone who figured out what was wrong with the trees, or with her, and made it all better.”

There was a long pause in which Rin became aware of the painfully high chirp of a night bird, then Enna laughed. “Rin, that was a really pathetic story.”

Rin smiled sheepishly. “I know. About halfway through I was hoping that you’d all fallen asleep.”

“Not bad for a first try,” Dasha said, patting Rin’s arm. “Think about it some more and tell it again another night, will you?”

Enna and Dasha yawned in unison, and the girls cozied into their blankets. By the time Enna and Dasha’s breathing went from restful to dead asleep, Isi was still staring up at the twisting canopy.

“I liked your story,” Rin whispered.

“Thanks. I told it for you.”

“You did? Thank you, for taking the trouble.” Isi must have guessed Rin had not understood their conversation about fire-speaking.

“Did you tell your story for me?” Isi whispered.

“Oh.” Rin’s chest seemed to be full of breath. “Maybe I did.”

“I’ve never known anyone with tree-speaking before, though I always suspected it was possible.”

“What’s it like, Rin?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have—uh, had—tree-speaking. I just listened, sort of, and I would feel different. It’s . . . I can’t explain.”

“Do you mind if I guess? When you were younger, perhaps, some need led you to first hear the trees. You were listening in a different way—and it’s not really like listening. Or feeling or smelling, is it? But something else, a different sense.”

“Is wind like that too? And fire?”

“In a way. What do you understand from the trees?”

Isi moved onto her side, propping her head with a hand. “I can understand some bird languages, and horse too, and I’ve learned that animals mostly don’t care what people do or think. I can’t imagine trees would note the way a person acted, let alone punish you for it. Do you?”

Rin exhaled. “No. I suspected that much. But then I can’t figure why they changed. Or maybe I changed?”

“I don’t know. Will you tell me when you work it out?”

Rin wished now more than ever that she could hear the tree’s calm again, just to have something she could share with Isi. The losing felt as tragic to her as Isi’s story, when the web of languages connecting the world snapped. She felt the mystery of that loss around her, ragged ends of broken webs teasing her skin.

“May I stay with you?” Rin whispered.

“It might be dangerous what we’re doing.”

“I’d still like to stay with you. Isi. Please. I’m better around you.”

Rin was feeling stripped and cold and confused, and she could not find the energy to say anything more, so she curled up tighter, letting her eyes close. The firelight bled through her lids, and she watched swirls of orange and gold collide as she heard Isi say, “Stay with us, Rin, but be careful. Please be careful.”